In Portland, June is the time of Rose Festival, when hundreds of thousands of people who have never been in Portland before, and have no idea how to cope with things here, pour into town for the festivities.
In June, visitors stop their cars in the middle of Broadway, at green lights, to consult a map and have a lively discussion about which direction North is. In June, people drive the wrong way up one way streets in the bus-only lane of the downtown bus mall and almost get in head-on collisions with the buses. It is so cute.
In June, the normal panhandlers (who I don't really mind) are supplemented by bizarre migratory panhandlers, who haven't recieved the standard training on how to ask for spare change in such a way that the question makes some kind of sense.
In June, people don't realize that the Portland weather is still terrible and it isn't really summer yet, so they dress in the spirit of summer, which at least once a day turns the entire downtown area into a giant wet T-shirt contest.
In June, I keep having the urge to say to people on the street, "hey, cool sailor costume!" But then I remember that in June, they actually are sailors.
In June, people on street corners give away free samples of weird new products, and I am reluctant to try them.
In June, you can tell who some of the people from out of town are, because they dress like they are expecting to be in front of MTV cameras any minute, instead of dressing like they just got back from a fishing / hiking / biking / rafting / Sasquatch-hunting trip.
In June, everywhere I go is too crowded.
In June, I'd rather be blogging. Or sleeping.